How the series should've gone
by Tidra-mi
Summary: harry potter is full of abuse and neglect, and possibility's for smut. this my first. lemony goodness in later chapters. the first few chapters are pre-hogwarts, to give a little background on my version of harry potter. will have yaoi. i own nothing. future pairings, snape/harry, Draco/harry, Voldemort/harry, Ron/harry, piers/harry, masturbation. (Luna/harry, Ginny/harry possible)
1. Chapter 1

Hello. This is mainly for girls who have read every harry potter book, but still wanted more... ;)

Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived.

_Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense…._

_The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it…._

_The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the potters had a small son too, but they had never seen him…_

_They didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that…._

"_The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-"_

"_-Yes, their son, Harry-"_

"_Harry. Nasty common name, if you ask me…"_

"_To Harry Potter- the boy who lived"_

Living in a cupboard under the stairs isn't so bad once you get used to it. I'd say 8 years is long enough to get used to almost anything. It was quite a routine, Aunt Petunia rapping her bony knuckles against the door and screeching at me to, "Get up! Now boy, there are chores to be done." Usually, I'd stall, making a show of actually WAKING up before GETTING up. But there's a time when celerity is divine, and Uncle Vernon's birthday was not a time for slowness.

"COMB YOUR HAIR!" With a sizzle, a slice of bacon fell off the spatula and onto the floor. There was a shriek, then a growl and a loud crack. Suddenly I was staring at the bacon on the floor, my face an inch away from it, my face stinging terribly. My ears were abruptly ringing, I could tell someone was shouting, but I couldn't focus on what they were saying. I chastised myself; I should've been prepared for him to say that, it wasn't the first time… so there was no reason for me to jump. Aunt Petunia was severely OCD, and hated messes. And Uncle Vernon made sure she was happy. Cringing as the volume increased, I looked up, Uncle Vernon was shouting, of course he was….he only had two modes, coddling Dudley, and shouting at Harry. His face was purple, his fist at his face, pulling hairs out of his mustache… again. Grunting hard as pain shoots through my stomach, I clutch myself into a ball, I stare at the floor; chastising myself again. I knew better than to look him in the face, I don't know why I always do things I know I shouldn't…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Life with a Dursley

A small, yet familiarly annoying buzzing sounded above me. What followed was equally familiar, a grunt then creaking of a mattress, the buzzing stops, and then a snort before snoring resumes. Sighing then rolling over, I let my mind wander. I have at least ten minutes before Aunt Petunia unlocks the cupboard door, my mistake at breakfast on Friday having forced them to lock me in over the weekend. I didn't blame them, it was my fault: I was clumsy. How was I supposed to learn if they didn't teach me?

TAP TAP TAP

"Up! Get up," a tiny scraping sound was my only preamble before my door was swung open and my blankets torn off me. Sitting up instinctively, my upper arm is pinched in my Aunt's fist as she half leads half drags me upstairs. "Ow...Aunty you're hurting m-" SMACK "shut up." Pressing my lips together, I walk in silence as she leads me to the bathroom. In the corner on the edge of the counter, there's a pile of cloth. It looks like a pile of pillow cases, but I know I'm expected to wear that to school. "Undress." The order is unnecessary, I know what to expect every morning. I take my pants off first, my nightshirt long enough to hang to my knees. I use the toilet while she gets the bath ready, the steam quickly filling the mirror over the sink with fog. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll be able to hold it until I get back from school, I don't get up right away when I'm done, wanting to stall as long as I can. I watch as Aunt Petunia gathers the soaps, I wonder if Dudley uses as much soap as I do… there's at least 5 bottles, though I have no idea what any of them say.

"Get in." I try to move slowly, to delay having to boil myself today, but the woman would have none of it, "I don't have time to coddle you boy now get your ass in the tub." Grabbing me by my arm again, she shoves me into the scalding water, letting me stand only long enough to take my shirt off before shoving me into a sit, then dousing my head with the cup in her other hand. My skin is instantly red, and my eyes sting as water gets in them, the smoke rising thickly off my hands as I try to rub the water out. I need to brace myself by putting my hands in the water as my head is roughly jerked back and forth, squeezing my eyes shut to avoid the soap that runs down my face. "Why does it knot like this? Do you rub oil in it? Maybe that's why it's so black…" I almost smile, but that wouldn't be a good idea, she'd start using her nails. After a few rounds of rinsing and scrubbing, she seems to be satisfied; at least, she rinses her hands and picks up the scrubber. After smothering the padding in the third kind of soap, she begins scrubbing my face raw. I try not to squirm but it hurts, so she holds my face steady by gripping my hair tightly, pulling it whenever I move. Fortunately, my face is small, so it doesn't last very long. She moves to my neck.

After scrubbing every inch of my skin raw, she finally drains the tub, grabbing my arm and pulling me to stand on the rug. She dries me roughly, making me rock back and forth as she dries my hair first then my body. Once I'm dry, she dresses me quickly, the shirt only slightly smaller than my night-shirt, hanging about mid-calf. The pants are just as baggy, a long shoelace able to hold them up, but the ends needing to be folded a few times before I can see my feet. Socks seem to be the only clothing I wear that fits me, mainly because they're the only thing I get from Aunt Petunia's hand me downs, and her feet are tiny. My shoes are quickly tied, then knotted. The lacing a little too tight to be comfortable, but at least they won't come off if I need to run later…

Maybe school will be different today…probably not, but a guy can hope right? After a quick breakfast of toast, I start working on my morning chores. Dusting the living room, shaking out the curtains and vacuuming anything that comes out of them, taking the cushions off the couch to vacuum underneath, putting them back on and vacuuming the top, shaking out the rugs on the back porch, cleaning the windows, wiping off the stove, clearing the other's breakfast dishes, doing the breakfast dishes, putting them away, then sweeping the kitchen. By the time I'm done, Dudley is finally ready for school. I was half hoping he would play sick so I could walk by myself today. But Dudley never walks to the bus, and if they're taking the car to the stop anyway, they figure they might as well give me a ride.

I never fight with Dudley in front of his parents, mainly because he never starts anything when they're around. But I do get in a few quick jabs with my words before I take off running. That's the only way to avoid Dudley nowadays… running. "Are we there yet? My legs are cramped… I'm thirsty..." I sigh; Dudley never stops complaining… it only gets worse when he pretends to cry all the time. Of course, he only does it to his parents and some of the teachers; he never does it around his friends.

Speaking of Dudley's friends… I could see their smirks from here. Resigning myself to my fate, I step out of the car as soon as it stops, out faster than Dudley, and quickly putting some distance between him and his friends. They immediately start laughing about something stupid, the noise of the car driving off not loud enough to drown them out. Five minutes until the bus came. Today could turn in either direction, maybe if I don't move and don't look at them, they'll just ignore me today…

"Hey freak… you just gonna stand there? Getcha ass over here" I sigh, I should've known… Piers never leaves me be…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"_Thirty-six? That's two less than last year."_

"_Thirty-nine, sweetums."_

"_Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him."_

_Piers Polkiss… a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them._

"_MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"_

"_Make it move." TAP TAP TAP. "Do it again" TAP TAP TAP…. "This is boring…"_

"_I know, it must be really annoying… where do you come from anyway...was it nice there...oh, I see-so you've never been to Brazil?"_

"_Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"_

They said staring at the sun was bad for your eyes. Ok…I'll buy that… but then again, what else is there to stare at when it's sunny?

Summertime is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because, I was no longer required to be at school, waiting for the bus with Dudley, Piers, Denis, Malcolm and Gordon. The curse? The little gang, with Dudley as the leader, never seemed to tire of their favorite game: Harry Hunting. Of course, simply staying away from the house, worked well most of the time, it was when they got bored that was dangerous.

A tiny boy with blonde hair and a sticky face streaked past screeching at his father "can' catch meh dahdy!" the 'daddy' was chasing after him, a frazzled look on his face. "Don't run Tyler, come back here. Let me clean your face before your mother sees you." It was hard not to smile, watching the boy get scooped up and carried back to the bench. His father pretending to be angry, but unable to keep from smiling. He held his chin while he scrubbed the gunk off his face, the look of affection on his face causing a twinge of pain in my chest. I couldn't sit here anymore, I needed to move. Stepping off the stagnant swing, putting my hands in my pocket, I started walking, my back to the boy and his father. I'd always wondered about the night my parents died, that car crash that left the scar on my forehead. Reaching up to touch it, I tried remembering what had happened; the only thing I could make out was a bright green light and pain in my head.

Lost in thought, I forgot to pay attention to where I was going. So by the time I heard the painfully familiar laughter, they were just about to turn the corner. It was too late to hide and hope they didn't see me. Maybe if I turn around and walk away they won't notice me….

"….should've seen 'is face…'e looked like someone put an ice cube down 'is pants..." the laughter that followed was so loud it hurt my ears. I had no idea what was so funny, and I wasn't keen on sticking around to find out. I tried to be inconspicuous and fast at the same time, something I'm apparently terrible at. "Eh…'ey harry! There you is! We been lookin' for you" groaning internally, I speed up, trying to escape before they get too interested. "Whoa, he's a fast one eh? 'Arry! Coomon we jus' wanna talk wichu." Before I could get too far, a fist grabs the back of my shirt collar, and I'm forced to stop, or risk ripping my shirt.

Laughter peals from everywhere as I sag in Pier's arms, or rather, nearly fall as he holds me up by my arms. I taste iron, as blood runs from my nose; my stomach must have a sign on it. 'Dudley and friends, personal punching bag.' "What, you worn out already potter? Man you're more of a wuss than I thought, I was just getting started" I glare at him, "you know what tomorrow is right?" I stare at him. "Monday?" grunting from a heavy punch to the gut, I barely catch what he says next "the first day of middle school, you know, they stuff people's heads down the toilet, first day at stonewall. Maybe we should practice." Smirking I speak without thinking, "No thanks, poor toilets' never had anything as horrible as your head down it- it might be sick" the smallest of chuckles escapes my restrainer, I hadn't expected any of them to laugh. Dudley looks murderous though, "just you wait you little freak, come on the bathroom's not that far away." Despite being picked on every day, I had yet to receive a swirly. I wasn't eager to relinquish that title. Kicking and screaming, I force them to stop, piers holding my arms tightly and Dudley repeatedly punches me in the face, breaking my glasses in half, the two pieces hanging from my ears.

Seeing stars, the larger boys have no problem getting me into the bathroom; they set me on the floor, Piers still restraining me. "Since you have such a pissy attitude, I think we'll make this a bit more fun." Flinching, I expect him to hit me again, but he doesn't. Instead he smirks stupidly, and goes into the center stall. The sound of a zipper, then of Dudley pissing is oddly loud in the small bathroom. I wait for the flush to signal he's done and will come out to finish whatever he has in store. It doesn't come, even after he zips back up and comes out signaling the next boy to piss in the same toilet. As each boy takes their turn, the scent of their efforts gets stronger. I'm starting to wish Piers would let me go, just so I could plug my nose. Then piers hands me off to Dudley so he can have his turn. "You still haven't figured it out have you? Heh, so much for being the smart one" I start nearly hyperventilating, thinking maybe I'm wrong; Dudley's not THAT cruel…. Surely not that… disgusting…."woo… guys that stinks somthin' awful…I'm just pissing in it and my eyes sting" one of the boys chuckle "mom made asparagus" as piers exits the stall, suddenly all eyes are on me. There's nowhere to look without meeting gloating sneering faces.

I have to be wrong right? There's no way that he'd make me…doubt starts to form as I'm yanked to my feet, panting in the tainted air, I twist and squirm, but Dudley just twists my arm, making me cry out in pain as I fall back to my knees. They yank me up and forward, still struggling, they're too much stronger than me to fight them, I try bracing my feet against the side of the doors, screaming for someone to stop them. To help me, spare me from this new level of humiliation.

No one comes. One of the boys tries punching me in the gut, but misses, hitting lower. I collapse in pain, feeling like I'm going to puke as the rancid air fills my lungs as I gasp, desperately trying to alleviate the new pain. The boys don't care, they drag me forward until I'm suddenly face to face with the nearly orange piss toilet, the stench nearly making me puke, and I was going to have my head in that soon if I didn't do something. Twisting and fighting, I manage to turn around and sink my teeth into one of their hands, the cry was unfamiliar, and so I knew it wasn't Dudley. But the fist connecting to my eye socket seemed to fit the bill. Dazed, and unable to fight as hard, they grab me by my hair, lifting me up and turning me to face the toilet again, the odor enough to clear my head enough to know I needed to fight. But no matter what I did it wasn't enough.

Almost deliberately slow, as if to torture me further by drawing it out, they slowly press my face closer and closer, until my cheek came in contact with it first, the water feeling both hot and cold at the same time, the fumes burning my eyes and nose as I took my last breath before they submerged my head. It burned in my cuts, I could feel it soaking into my hair, feeling as if it would never come out, the collar of my shirt soaking through and seeping down my neck. They held me there for a minute. Long enough for me to renew my struggles, now needing air. I could hear their laughter, muffled by the piss-water, my face burning in humiliation as they finally flushed the toilet, my face feeling as if it wanted to follow the piss down the drain. If only disappearing were that easy. They finally let me up, the piss smell clinging to me just as strongly as it had to toilet. They toss me onto the floor, leaving me there. Dudley says something, but I'm not listening anymore.

Eventually they tire of staring at me, my drenched form probably making me look like a drowned rat. They've been gone for a while before I even thing of moving. I pick up the pieces of my glasses and put them on, holding them together in the center. I cross the floor slowly and brace myself on the sink. I don't want to look up, but I have to. At first I don't recognize myself, but as the initial shock fades it starts to make more sense. My hair is matted, stinking, and clinging to my face, dripping the disgusting water onto the floor, blood still falls from my cuts, and my nose, the scrape on my eye seeming to be the worst. The last thing I look at is the eyes, those deep green eyes. None of my other family members have green eyes. I'm not like my family…pulling back the soaked mass of hair covering my forehead; I stare at the scar there. The lighting impersonation. Yeah…. I'm not like the Dursleys…. I'm not like anyone... just me… by myself…looking back at my eyes, I'm not surprised to see the wet streaks leading from my eyes to my chin…. Just me… by myself…. Alone.


	4. Chapter 4

(Sorry, chapter 3 happens between this chapter and the next, thought I should explain that so people don't hate me for time jumps)

Chapter Four

"_What's this?"_

"_Your new school uniform."_

"_Oh, I didn't realize it had to be so wet…"_

"_Don't be stupid… It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."_

"_Get the mail, Harry."_

_MR. H. POTTER, THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS, 4 PRIVET DRIVE, LITTLE WHINGING, SURREY._

There must be a mistake. No one wanted to contact me before, what had changed? Surely I wasn't being fined for anything, I wasn't old enough to get junk mail, if I was it still wouldn't be this specific. And no one knew I slept under the stairs, I hadn't told any of my teachers, and no one had cared enough to ask anyway.

I hadn't even noticed I was walking until Dudley started shouting. "Dad! Dad, Harry's got something!" suddenly, my letter-MY LETTER- was missing. I panic the first thing that had ever been mine was taken from me. "Give it back that's mine!" unthinkingly, I try to grab it before Uncle Vernon opened it. He sneers, snapping it open just out of my reach. "Who'd be writing to you?" nearly numb to his jibes by now, I simply stare as his face shifts in color and he starts to panic about something. I can only assume there's something horrible written in the letter, but it only makes me even more curious. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon start babbling, but it doesn't reveal anything important, then Dudley hits his dad over the head with the cane Aunt Marge sent him as a start of middle school present.

"I want to read that letter." Outraged, what right did any of them have to read MY letter? "I want to read it, as it's _mine_." Three pairs of eyes stared at me furiously, as if saying, 'How dare you speak.' It was a moment before any words were said, and they were deathly quiet. "Get out." He stuffed my letter back into the envelope, before adding, almost as an afterthought, "both of you." I was furious. So furious, I did something I've never done before. I shouted.

"I WANT MY LETTER!"

It was silent for a moment, my throat hurt, almost like I'd swallowed a flame, but it felt good. Then Uncle Vernon was practically roaring, "OUT!" flinching as my neck is roughly grabbed, Uncle Vernon leads me out into the hall, taking Dudley as well, slamming the kitchen door behind him. Then dragging me into the cupboard, throwing me in and locking it behind me. I heard him shouting-at Dudley of all people-"go to your room now, and don't come down until I come to get you." There was the typical screaming and the new banging of his cane across every surface along the way to Dudley's room. I could just strain my ears enough to hear the muffled sound of my aunt and uncle talking, but I could understand nothing until uncle shouted, "I'M NOT HAVING ONE IN THE HOUSE, PETUNIA! DIDN'T WE SWEAR WE'D STAMP OUT THAT DANGEOUS NONSENSE?"

NEXT MORNING

I don't know why I'm so depressed, maybe because I'd finally thought someone wanted something to do with me. But now that the letter was gone, burnt in the fireplace by my uncle, I was probably never going to know who it was. I did take a little consolation that at least I wasn't the most upset person at the table. Having listened all night to Dudley's biggest tantrum ever, I was amused to see he was in shock. Even more surprised when Uncle Vernon made Dudley go get the paper, but then it occurred to me, he probably didn't want me anywhere near the mail, just in case. I didn't have my hopes up.

"There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-' before I even knew it was happening, I was suddenly on my feet then my arms were around my uncles neck, choking him to try to keep him from destroying the letter. But I was struck in the head by something hard and lost my grip. "GO TO YOUR CUPBOARD….. I … I mean, your bedroom…" his shouting was reduced to horrid wheezing. I guess I was gripping harder than I thought… I gloated in my head for a second… then sulked on my way upstairs. All that…. And I still didn't have my letter….


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot._

…_pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom…_

_Twenty-four letters… rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs…_

"_Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?"_

"_No post on Sundays…"_

_MR. H. POTTER, ROOM 17, RAILVIEW HOTEL, COKEWORTH._

"_Daddy's gone mad hasn't he?"_

_Tomorrow, Tuesday….eleventh birthday…._

I'm completely frozen. The boat swayed ominously, Dudley looking greener and greener, not that I really cared. I just didn't want him puking on me… I'd pretty much given up on trying to get a letter, if Uncle Vernon didn't want me to have something…. I wouldn't be getting it. Shivering, I stared ahead at the tiny shack that we would be staying in for who knows how long… I wonder how long it would take for the letters to stop coming at all… and then how much longer than that when Uncle Vernon felt safe enough to return. Honestly I was sick of the letters, they'd only complicated things. Sure I was still insanely curious, but I found myself wishing they'd never started coming in the first place.

I was still lost in thought when the boat bumped into the shore. "Get out and help me tie it off, boy." Soaking my pants and shoes even further, I could feel my lips turning blue. The sensation replacing that of my toes. After tying off the boat and falling down trying to walk on the path to the shack, we entered the slightly warmer front room. Actually, I think the only difference was, there was no wind inside, I was still just as cold as I'd been outside.

Four hours later, and I still hadn't fallen asleep. I was much too cold to relax enough to get anywhere close to sleep. I figured we were going to stay long enough for uncle to feel comfortable enough to leave. So the others would sleep as long as they could. This meant I'd get plenty of sleep, even if I stayed up past midnight… which was half an hour away… according to Dudley's watch. My snoring cousin, sleeping on the couch, dangling his arm onto the floor, inches from where I was supposed to be sleeping.

I stared at the watch, waiting patiently as the countdown continued. I didn't get too excited until there were five minutes left. All the noises of the storm outside suddenly seemed much louder, I assumed that the loud slapping noises was the waves hitting the rocks… and the crunching noise rock crumbling into the sea. It had to be, no one would walk through the storm outside for no reason. And there was no reason for anyone to be out here in the first place.

_One minute left._

_Thirty seconds_

_Twenty….ten…nine… three… two… one..._

_BOOM_


End file.
